


Something Blue

by naturegirlrocks



Series: Something new, something old... [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure, James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit silly, Cabinlock, Gen, M/M, Martin is Sherlock's cousin, Q is a Holmes, Vacation, case fic - but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:43:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturegirlrocks/pseuds/naturegirlrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets a case on Jamaica, John hopes it's a vacation as well. Will John be able to get Sherlock to relax?</p><p>James and Freddie tag along because that is what they do. </p><p>Cabinlock because I can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> As before, I'm writing this on my phone, English is not my first language, and I have too much trust in the auto-spell.
> 
> Since I want to publish one chapter a day some things can be hurried.
> 
> I will correct mistakes as I see them and have time. Before I publish the final chapter I will go through everything again.

"A vacation?" Sherlock looked like John had gone mad, which was actually not far off the mark. "Why would I want to take a vacation?"

"The question..." John took a patient breath, "...is 'Why would _I_ want to take a vacation?'."

Sherlock frowned for a brief moment as he thought about John's words. They were sitting in their respective chairs in the living room. The telly was on some morning talk-show but neither of them were watching it. There were four bulldogs at John's feet, watching his every move as he tried to eat his breakfast.

It had been two weeks since Harry and Pamela had left for Hawaii, leaving three bitches (literary, not figuratively) in John's care. Sherlock did help him occasionally, but mostly the detective was satisfied with using them for disposal of food he didn't feel like eating himself.

"I see your point, I think," said Sherlock. "I will take it under consideration."

"Thank you. I don't ask for much. Just to get away from home for a bit. Maybe we could go visit some relatives or something."

"Visit relatives?"

"Some people do you know."

John broke the last piece of his sandwich in four parts and distributed it to the dogs. 

After losing his job at the clinic John had thought things would slow down a bit, but the cases had rolled in. John almost wondered if the readers of his blog were feeling pity for him and deliberately created cases for Sherlock to take on. 

He hoped not, because two of the cases involved murder, and another had been a lost child. 

There was no cases now though. Sherlock was getting edgy. He was teaching himself to knit, and John was caught between feeling amused and scared. Those long needles looked sharp. 

"Do you have any relatives I haven't met?" asked John.

"I have an aunt," mused Sherlock, as he compared three different 'how-to-knit'-books. "Father's sister. She lives in Berkshire."

"Berkshire?" John looked away from the telly. "Which part?"

"Wokingham. Do you think Gladstone would like a blue or green collar?"

"Dogs are colourblind."

"That's a misconception," Sherlock took up a dark blue ball of yarn. "Dogs are only partly colourblind, they can distinguish between the basic colours."

"Fine," John leaned back. "Why wasn't your aunt at Jennie's wedding?"

"Father and she were never close. When he died..." Sherlock shrugged. "Mummy talks to her on the phone sometimes."

"Do you have any cousins?" 

John couldn't believe he never had this conversation with Sherlock before. The subject never came up since Sherlock already knew everything about John's family. 

"Three. One my age, one a bit older, and one a bit younger."

"Would your aunt mind if we visited?" 

"Why would she?"

"Not all people like when relatives invite themselves into their homes," sighed John. "Just think about how you feel when Harry does so. And, not all people are comfortable with two men being together."

"Then some people better get comfortable or piss off," Sherlock examined the knitting needles, testing their sharp points like he was thinking of using them on anyone who didn't approve of him and John being together. 

John smiled. 

"Anyway," said Sherlock. "My aunt doesn't have a bad bone in her body. She's almost too nice."

They sat so for for about an hour. Sherlock was deeply concentrated on his knitting, constantly comparing himself to the books. If he was doing a collar for Gladstone, it was getting too long. John was watching the telly and occasionally glancing to Sherlock.

"Boys!" Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs. "Your car is here!"

"What car?" Sherlock frowned.

"The one Mycroft promised to send so we can pick up Harry and Pamela up from the airport, and give them their dogs back."

John stood up from his seat, the dogs got to their feet as well. They followed him to the door where he called down that they where on their way.

"Are you coming?" John reached for his jacket and the four leaches. 

"Busy."

"Sherlock, you promised to help me with this. They are bound to have a lot of luggage to carry." He paused for a moment, thinking of what could entice Sherlock to move. "We can stop by Molly's lab on the way back. Now that we got a car that isn't public transport."

"Fine," Sherlock put the knitting away. 

"Thank you."

John carried Gladstone and Rosie down the stairs, Sherlock took Velma, Gladys walked by herself. 

Mycroft was sitting in the car when they entered. Gladstone was very happy to see him and jumped to his lap. Mycroft was less excited but allowed the pup to lay down.

"I'm just coming with you to the airport," he said. "I have meeting in New York."

Sherlock looked him over.

"CIA-briefing in Seattle."

"Whatever," Mycroft shrugged. "I see you taken up knitting."

"It's surprisingly mathematical," Sherlock leaned back, took out his mobile, and started typing. "Lestrade not coming with you? You are sleeping together after all."

"Sherlock," John scolded. 

"Gregory is working," Mycroft said calmly. 

Sherlock smirked and continued his typing. From his angle John saw that Sherlock was investigating the possibility to buy tax-free cigarettes at the airport without having a ticket. John sighed and took the phone away from Sherlock.


	2. Two

At the airport the dogs were left in the car, being looked over by Mycroft's driver. 

As they entered the check-in hall Mycroft got a call that made him very upset and had to walk away somewhere more private to talk, leaving John and Sherlock with his bag. Sherlock voted for just ignoring the bag and go take a cup of tea. John convinced him that it wasn't a good thing to do at an airport.

John looked up at the great digital boards depicting names of far-off places. He had done a bit of travelling in his army days, but never to a place that was not a war-zone. _Wokingham, Berkshire_ he thought. That was about fifty kilometres from London.

He turned to say something to Sherlock, but the tall man was gone. John looked around but he couldn't see his friend anywhere. 

"Git," he said.

He wanted to go look, but couldn't leave Mycroft's bag, and if he took the bag with him Mycroft could miss his flight. For all John knew there could be important government files in there, as well as a change of underwear. 

People walked around him, coming and going. Two security guards were looking at him. John looked up at the board again, trying to find Harry's plane. It hadn't landed yet. 

Sherlock came back holding a large carton of twenty cigarette packages. He looked very pleased with himself. 

"You know you are not getting even one of those," said John in a harsh tone. 

"I know," Sherlock looked a little less pleased. "But they are good to keep my informants happy."

John nodded. He didn't like to encourage smoking, but even in his role as a doctor he couldn't really forbid anyone. Except for Sherlock, but that was only because John loved him. 

"So," said Mycroft returning. "There has been a change of plan." 

"Not interested," noted Sherlock. 

"I'm now going to Washington," continued Mycroft, nonchalantly taking the cigarette carton from Sherlock, tucking it under his own arm. "You two are going to Jamaica."

"We are?" asked John.

"We are not," said Sherlock.

"You are," said Mycroft. "The British ambassador there has been attacked and badly injured. Some very important information is missing. I need someone I trust implicitly to find it. You are the closest available choice." 

"B-but..." John stammered.

"I will let my driver know," Mycroft was typing frantically on his mobile. "He will take care of your sister. She will take care of Gladstone. I'll transfer money to your account for expenses."

"I'm not going," said Sherlock, folding his arms like a stubborn child.

"I'm booking you a private jet, with a company I trust," continued his brother. "It will be here in twenty minutes, so go buy yourselves some toothbrushes. It's a ten hour flight."

"Nine," corrected Sherlock. And we are still not going."

"I'm going to call Freddie," Mycroft still didn't listen. "He'll provide you with  
a good cover story, and send the Jamaican customs your passports." 

"Is this a case?" asked John, feeling a bit excited.

"Yes," Mycroft gave him a stern look. "But I'll appreciate if you call it a vacation in your blog."

"Vacation?" Sherlock suddenly perked up and glanced to John.

John was about to say that a case disguised as a vacation wasn't a real vacation, but then again he was going to Jamaica for free. It was much better than driving to Wokingham in a rented car. 

"Fine," resigned Sherlock and turned to his brother. "But the cigarettes go to Henderson at the homeless shelter. And you need to get my bacteria cultures for Molly to look after."

"Done," nodded Mycroft, taking his bag. "See you later."

They watched the British Government walk away towards the international flight desk. 

"Let's go buy some toiletries then," said John. 

Sherlock was more interested in the small electronics department of the store than in the choices of tiny travel sized necessities. John bought him a pink toothbrush. 

John also bought a few pocket books and some magazines for the long flight.

A mail arrived to Sherlock's phone giving them tickets and flight information. There was also a mail giving some descriptions of the missing information, but since it was highly classified there wasn't much to go on, except that it was a paper file and not digitalised. 

"What do you think?" asked John as they walked towards the gate. 

"Mycroft was expecting something to happen," said Sherlock. "But I believe it was worse than he expected."

"How do you figure?" 

"Since our private plane will be here very shortly, it means it was already on standby. Mycroft was ready to change his plans last minute. But the call he got made him go to Washington instead, which means that the lost information is critical. He says he trusts us, and the company, which means that this is very important, perhaps even affecting him personally." 

"You are really impressive," John gave him an admiring smile. "Have I told you that?"

"Not today," said Sherlock with a smirk. 

"Tosser," grinned John.

He was pleasantly surprised when Sherlock took his hand. He squeezed back. 

"Oh," said Sherlock as the gate brought them directly out on the tarmac. "I see why Mycroft felt he could trust this company."

John looked at the small jet. It looked old but in good condition. The letters _MJN_ where printed in big red bold letters on the tail. A man in his early thirties, wearing a red shirt, black vest and a black baseball cap with the same letters on it, came towards them. 

"How so?"

"You will remember one of the cousins I mentioned, the one my age. He's the pilot,"

"Hello!" the man called with an abundance of cheeriness. "I'm Arthur, I'll be in your service of taking care of you today. Wow! Skip said you were cousins, but look really alike! Sherlock Holmes, that's brilliant."

"That's him," said John, slightly rising the hand he still was holding on to. "I'm Dr. Watson."

He was amazed that he didn't feel a bit embarrassed showing such public affection. 

"That. Is. Brilliant!" beamed Arthur. "I read your blog. Terribly exciting to meet you. I have read your page too, Mr Holmes, I don't understand that much of it, but it's really brilliant as well. You are very smart, and tall. Where is your hat?"

Sherlock just blinked, it was not often he didn't have a biting retort. 

"We should get going," said John taking the opportunity of the silence. "We are in a hurry."

"Yes! Yeah! Right! Sorry! This way on to your seats, sirs!"

Arthur led the way to the seven step stairs leading into the plane. 

"What is it?" asked John noting Sherlock staring at the man. 

"You know how I always say that ordinary people are stupid?"

"Yes?"

"Well, stupid people are not always ordinary."

"I'm not sure if that was nice or not," said John hesitantly. 

They had reached the middle of the stairs when there was a sudden roar of engines. John turned to see a shiny red sports-car speeding towards them across the tarmac. 

He felt a slight panic as the car seemed about to crash into them, but turned away and stopping at the last second missing them by a few centimetres. Sherlock didn't move a nerve. 

"Wow," gaped Arthur. 

"What's going on?" said a strangely familiar voice over the intercom speakers of the plane. "Arthur?"

A man dressed in a perfect tuxedo and sunglasses was stepping out of the driver seat of the car, he looked like he did that kind thing every day. He adjusted his cuffs and made a half-arsed salute to John. It was James Bond.

"Heard you were going on a trip," said James. "Mind if we catch a ride?"

He stepped around to the passenger seat and opened the door. Freddie almost fell out on the ground, clutching a computer bag to his chest like his life depended on it. 

"You arse!" he screamed, hitting James in the chest several times with his free hand. "You utter fucking arse! Never again! Never!"

"I was just preparing you for the flight love," laughed James, giving him a hug.

"I'll tell my brother on you!" Freddie yelled and pushed away.

James actually gave Sherlock a slightly worried look. He moved to let another man out from the back seat. The man looked a bit pale but said nothing as James gave him the car keys. 

"Take care of my baby, minion," said James.

"Don't call him that!" yelled Freddie making his way up the stairs and turning to John, slightly manic. "Do you have any tranquillisers with you?"

"N-no," John shook his head.

"What on earth is going on out here?" a gangly red-headed man in a pilot's uniform and big white cap looked out from the plane. "Why is there a car on the runway? That's clearly against protocol! Frederick, what are you doing here?"

John just stared at him. That voice, those cheekbones, the hinting arrogance. This must be Sherlock's cousin, they looked more alike than any of the brothers. 

"Martin!" called Freddie pushing past the others into the plane. "I'm coming aboard, knock me unconscious, or open up the drinks cabinet."

"He's a bit tense about flying," said James as he took a big black bag from the trunk of the car. 

"I can help with that!" called Arthur running to take the bag. "And may I just say, sir, that you are just brilliant!"

"Thank you," smiled James handing over the bag and making Arthur's knees buckle under its weight. 

"I wish I brought my knitting," Sherlock sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose Jamaica since I wanted a place with nice beaches, that spoke English and wasn't part of USA. 
> 
> I have never been to Jamaica, so everything is guesswork and google.


	3. Three

"It's uncanny," said John. "I didn't think cousins could look so alike." 

"It's not _uncanny_ ," said Sherlock with a shrug. "It's simple genealogy. My father and Martin's mother have the same parents. Some traits skip generations."

They were seated in the front left row of the plane, Freddie and James were on the right side. There were sixteen seats all in all. 

Arthur was serving them drinks, doubles for Freddie. The genius quartermaster was sitting by the aisle, holding James's hand, looking both tipsy and terrified.

"What are you doing here?" asked John carefully. "You obviously don't like it."

"Blame agent Danger here," said Freddie breathing hard. "He _took_ my phone when Mycroft called. Which you are not allowed to do! I'm your superior!" 

"It was your private mobile," shrugged James. "Anyway, free trip to Jamaica. I've never been there on my own time before."

"We are on a case," said Sherlock. 

"This is so exciting," said Arthur. 

John laughed.

"You won't say that after you spent nine hour in a small compartment with Sherlock."

"Why is there a civilian here?" asked Freddie noticing Arthur.

"He's serving you drinks until you pass out," said Sherlock. "Relax, this is my case. You and agent Danger are just on vacation." 

"Is your name really Danger?" Arthur looked excitedly at James. 

"Only my middle name," smiled James raising his glass of whisky.

"Brilliant. My middle name is Gordon, after my dad, and like the gin." 

John thought Arthur was slightly adorable. 

"I'm going to my mind palace," said Sherlock decidedly and rose from his seat. 

"The seatbelt sign is still on!" cried Freddie. "Sherlock! Be careful."

"I'm not going to fall off the plane," said Sherlock more reassuring than John had ever heard him before. "I'm just going to sit in the back so I can think."

"Do you want a magazine?" asked John, searching through his plastic tax-free bag. "I bought you 'The British Medical Journal', 'The Lancet', 'National Geographic," and 'Handcraft'."

Sherlock suddenly looked at him like he wanted to kiss him. John blushed and held forward the magazines. This was one of the moments when John could actually feel that Sherlock loved him.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock took the magazines and walked to the back of the plane. 

" _Handcraft_?," James raised an eyebrow. 

John just smiled and took up one of his newly acquired pocket books. He looked up as the speakers dinged.

"Gentlemen," said a posh but nice voice. "This is First Officer Richardson. The Captain has now turned off the seatbelt sign and you may freely move around the cabin. Cabin crew to the flight deck, please."

"That's me," said Arthur and hurried into the galley that separated the cabin from the cockpit. 

"While he's gone..." said John and leaned over the aisle, "...what have you heard about the case?"

"The ambassador is injured and some important papers are missing," said James and shrugged. "You are in need of some cover to investigate. That's it really. Freddie knows more."

"I-it's probably..." Freddie tried to focus for a moment. "...all cleared up before we even get there. Or it will be too late."

"Why wouldn't Mycroft send resources already there? I find it hard to believe there isn't a single British operative in Jamaica, or at least someone closer than us."

"Sensitive materials," slurred Freddie, and then gave him a perfect Sherlock-look "Obviously." 

Then he glanced over John's shoulder to the window, and realised where they were. Which was very high up in the air. He started to panic. John knew a few things about panics. 

"Rub his back," instructed John. 

James happily obliged and put his hand under Freddie's clothes. Freddie squeaked.

"Take off his shoes!" came Sherlock's voice from the back.

Arthur retuned from the galley with the drink trolly. He immediately started to help Freddie, pouring him a cup of tea with some brandy in it. 

"This is very exciting," he said. "We usually fly Mr Holmes, I mean the other... Well I mean the original Mr Holmes, oh, I guess this Mr Holmes is an original too. Anyway he's brilliant, the Mr Holmes we usually fly, but this is exciting too. Don't you think so Mr Danger?"

"So far I have found this flight very satisfactory," said James, rubbing his hand under the back of Freddie's shirt. "Call me James."

John leaned to look back at Sherlock. He could see a pair of long legs sticking out into the aisle, the feet where bare. They didn't move.

Usually when Sherlock was deep in thought his feet twitched. John frowned and got up from his seat. He gave a confident smile to Freddie, and then walked to the back. 

Sherlock was on his back over two seats. His hands where clenched hard over his stomach, his eyes where closed. John hunched down and placed a hand on his knee.

"Are you all right?" he asked. 

"I don't like flying," said Sherlock. "I'm not as bad as Freddie, but I don't want to upset him more by showing him." 

"You are a good brother," John squeezed his knee. "Do you want me to get you anything? A drink? Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Did you buy any nicotine patches?"

"Yes," John laughed and got to his feet. "You can have one every third hour."

"Second."

"Third," John gave him a stern look.

"Fine."

John offered a patch to Freddie as well. If James hadn't held on to him, John was sure that Freddie would have kissed him.


	4. Four

Four hours later Arthur was serving John dinner, Freddie was fast asleep, Sherlock was getting his third patch and James had worked his way into flying the plane.

The first officer, Douglas, had come out to say hello, and to look at Sherlock. He seemed nice, though a bit of a know-it-all, John was too accustomed to that attitude in people close to him so barely noticed. 

Douglas hadn't told Sherlock to piss off while being lazily deducted. Actually he seemed rather amused, up until the point when Sherlock started talking about Douglas' superiority complex, and his worries not spending enough time with his child.

That was when John gave Sherlock the third nicotine patch. Douglas retreated to the flight-deck.

James came back a few minutes later. He sat down in his seat and checked that Freddie was alright. 

Arthur served him his dinner.

"I thought you where flying the plane," said John. 

"I was," James took a bite of his Boeuf Bourguignon. "But the pilot is a bit obsessed by the rules. Just flying on straight forward isn't in _my_ job description. Though it was interesting to try out this model."

"If he shares genetics with the Holmes' family..." said John with a fond smile "...then he must be obsessed with something. It's in their nature."

"I like that Skip likes flying," said Arthur coming back from offering food to Sherlock and being told to go away. "It's good to do what you like to do. Like Mr. Holmes likes solving mysteries, and the other Mr. Holmes likes being posh. I like crazy golf but I don't get to do it that often anymore."

John laughed, but then felt a bit thoughtful. What did he like? And was he doing it? He was Sherlock's conductor of light and loving companion. He liked that very much. Then why did he have a feeling that something was missing?

"I need Freddie's computer," said Sherlock, interrupting John's worried line of thought.

He was standing in the aisle, his left hand had a harder grip then necessary on the back of John's seat. 

"He's sleeping," said James. 

"I don't need him, just his computer. I need more data on the case."

"You don't have the clearance to use it," James shook his head. "Hell, _I_ don't have clearance to use it."

"All electronics must be turned off, or be turned to 'flight mode', during the entire course of the flight," said Arthur, sounding like he was quoting someone.

"That's why I need Freddie's computer," said Sherlock. "He would have upgraded it so it won't disturb the integrity of the avian technology."

"I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded really smart," Arthur smiled. "I can ask Skip if you can use the satellite phone."

Arthur didn't notice the disdainful look Sherlock gave him as he left for the flight-deck.

"Here," said James taking out his mobile from his inner pocket. "Use my phone, it has the same upgrade. Don't go through my pictures."

"Believe me, I have no desire of seeing candid photos of my naked little brother," huffed Sherlock, taking the mobile without thanks, and walking back to his seat. 

"You know," said John shifting a little. "If you have any sensitive materials on that, you have just given it up."

"We are not allowed to access anything sensitive between missions without a personal code and remote clearance." James arranged Freddie's sleeping form to lean against his chest. "It's safe. Q made sure of it."

John didn't believe that that would stop Sherlock for one moment, but he held his tongue.

He retuned to his pocket book, and tried to ignore the onsetting feeling of doom.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI: I have no idea where this story is going, or what the case is, or how it's going to be solved. :)

They landed in Jamaica at local noon time, John felt ready to go to bed. 

Freddie was somewhere between tipsy, asleep and hungover, but he still managed to put all their travel documents in order. James managed to find a wheelchair to push him around in. 

According to Sherlock, Mycroft had sent them a cover story. John was going to act as a representative for 'The Reginald Holmes' LBTGA-foundation'. 

Sherlock had first been irritated that Jennie had named her foundation after their father, but he had now come to terms with it. Perhaps it wasn't how the proud man should be remembered, but with such sons it was was he deserved. 

Jennie hadn't managed to convince John to become a board member, Sherlock had thankfully seen to that, though John had agreed to be a consultant in medical questions. 

Apparently the Brittish Ambassador was very supportive of a new Jamaican gay movement group that needed funding.

"Is that true?" asked John as they moved through customs. 

"It is now," said Sherlock. 

"Here you go Mr Creiff," said one of the customs officers mixing up Martin and Sherlock.

"It's 'Captain'!" said Martin in a irritated tone. "And it's me! Look, I have a uniform and a hat."

"Too bad you didn't bring your hat, Mr Holmes," said Arthur. "Then it would have been easier to tell the difference."

John was amused because Sherlock's 'you are an idiot'-face didn't affect Arthur one bit. Though it made Martin give Sherlock a sour look. 

They got on a mini bus taxi waiting outside the airport. First stop would be the British Embassy. Freddie was waking up, drinking a lot of water, and typing away on his tablet. John had never seen anyone use a computer, a tablet, and a mobile simultaneously before, let alone in a moving car.

"I can't change the original booking," said Freddie. "The hotel is full."

"Martin doesn't mind sharing with Arthur," said Douglas.

"Douglas!" huffed Martin. "He only means that me and Arthur often share room. I mean on trips. To save money."

"I feel like the only straight man on a gay cruise," said Douglas.

"I'm not gay!" Martin shouted, then he went very pale and turned to John. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," John smiled. "I'm not gay either. Neither is Sherlock."

"How does that work?" 

"Very well," said Sherlock, taking John's hand.

"My preference is that I just don't care," said James with a laugh. 

"As often proved," Freddie shook his head. "Over and over again. I'm gay, though. Which probably makes me the most sane person here."

Douglas gave him a raised eyebrow.

"What are we talking about?" asked Arthur. "I was looking at the sun."

"Mind your eyes," said Martin, taking up a pair of sunglasses and putting them on Arthur's nose.

John and Sherlock were dropped off by the embassy. The others drove on to the hotel, bringing Sherlock's coat and John's jacket with them. 

A uniformed police officer was standing in the hallway talking to a British soldier, a corporal. Both of them seemed to be in their twenties. 

"Can I help you, sirs?" asked the corporal.

"I'm Doctor Watson," said John showing the papers Freddie had given him. "I have an appointment with the Ambassador."

"Yes," the corporal checked his pad. "You are on the list, Doctor. And your friend?"

"Martin Creiff," said Sherlock, holding up Martin's identity card. "I'm not on the list, but I'm just along for the ride."

"Says you are a pilot."

"Yes I am," said Sherlock. "And a damned good one if I do say so myself."

John could never get used to when Sherlock changed personality, but he was good at not showing his reaction to it. 

"Is there any problem?" he glanced at the policeman. 

"We are still on red alert actually. The Ambassador was attacked by intruders yesterday. He's at the hospital."

"Is it serious?" John put on a concerned face. "I'm a medical doctor."

"I've been told that he will recover fine, but that he has taken a week of duty."

"Understandable," John nodded and glanced to Sherlock, who gave him a miniature nod. "Well, the thing is, that the foundation I'm representing are preparing to aid some of the Ambassador's charity work with a large sum of money. I'm here to see how the funding will be used. We have come a very long way for this."

"I flew the plane," said Sherlock in a far too happy voice.

"Well..." the Corporal shifted a little. "Wait here. I'll ask my supervisor."

He gave a nod to the police officer and hurried away down a corridor. 

"What charity work is that?" asked the policeman.

John guessed by the shape of his eyes that the man had some Chinese heritage in him, probably third generation, since his skin was so dark. Married to a woman older than him, and left-handed. John wondered when he had started to think like Sherlock. 

"The Zion Stripes." 

John tried to look professional while Sherlock seemed to be loitering, reading notices, flicking through pamphlets, disappearing to the bathroom. 

"Really?" the policeman grinned. "My sister's friend works there. They are doing a good job taking care of those kids."

"That's good to hear," smiled John, wondering if Sherlock was going to need rescuing any time soon. 

The Corporal came back with a short woman, forty-ish, with light coffee skin, and a lot of hair in a large bun. She had a British accent with the sound of someone who had lived half her life in Jamaica. 

"Geraldine Harrisson," she said shaking John's hand. "Call me Gerry. Public Relations and Press secretary."

John spent the next hour in a small cafeteria drinking tea. He found out that 'The Zion Stripes' was an organisation that took care of young people being turned away from their families because of their sexuality. Gerry had no idea that the Ambassador was involved, and was actually moved to tears.

John used this opportunity to find out more about the man, Henry Brough as his name was, and a bit about the attack. Gerry was a bit scared that something like that had happened. Brough seemed to be a good man.

A moment later Sherlock was led into the cafeteria by two gruff civilian security guards. 

"Ah!" he said. "There you are, Doctor. I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Including the locked restricted areas of the second floor," said one of the guards. 

"As I said, everywhere," Sherlock gave a silly smile. "We _really_ should be going."

"Oh yes," said John, faking a glance at his watch that was still on London time. "We need to visit the 'Stripes' as well before we move on."

"I'm sure you want to call Mr. D to drive us there," continued Sherlock with the same smile.

John frowned for a moment before he remembered _Mr. Danger_. Sherlock was indicating that something was wrong. He apologised to Gerry, and stepped away to make the phone call. Sherlock finished John's tea and gave her a flirtatious smile. She giggled.

It was Freddie who answered James' phone. He sounded a bit sleepy, but otherwise fine. There was the sound of a shower in the background. 

"Hello Mr. D," said John smiling, noting that one of the guards where listening. "We would like a pick up from the Embassy, please." 

"Ten minutes," Freddie was suddenly all business. "By the way, you can tell Sherlock that Martin is very angry with him."

"Thank you," John hung up.

Gerry followed them outside, so did the two guards, which made her a bit confused, though she tried not to let it on. 

"By the way," she asked John carefully. "Your foundation _is_ approved by the government? It's very official by media standards. I mean, Ambassador Brough won't get in any... political trouble?"

"Don't worry," said John. "I assure you that the Reginald Holmes Foundation has every stamp of approval there is." 

"I can even assure you, ma'am," said Sherlock. "That if Reginald Holmes was alive today he would tare the government a new one if it went against him."

John felt bad for Mycroft with the implication. Of what he knew of Reginald, Sherlock's father, was that the man had been very strict and intimidating, though he seemed to have loosened up at the end of his life. 

Gerry seemed calmer though. 

"I think we can begin to walk," said Sherlock, taking John's arm and pulling him along. "Mr D will catch up with us."

"Is something wrong?" asked John.

"There may be a very open safe on the second floor that's supposed to be very closed."

"Did you find anything?"

"I _didn't_ find the missing papers,"

"Hm," said John and hurried his steps. "Anything else?"

"The Ambassador was really attacked, and not faking it. I believe it was an inside job though. Not sure about the motive yet, though I have four theories."

A yellow jeep pulled up to the curb a few moments later. James was at the wheel, he had on a simple white t-shirt displaying his impressive arms. If it wasn't for his light skin, his relaxed posture and seemingly happy attitude would have made him look like a native. 

Freddie was in the passenger seat, wearing a blue shirt and lots of sun cream. He looked tense.

"Yo," said James.

"Hello," said John getting into the back of the car, Sherlock followed. "I thought you weren't getting back into a car with him ever again."

"I was promised food," said Freddie.


	6. Six

James drove them to a near restaurant. The food was spicy and every dish had some sorts of fruit in it. John was slightly in heaven. He even managed to get some rice mixed with peas and beans into Sherlock.

"Are we still going to the 'Stripes'?" he asked. 

"Eventually, yes," said Sherlock. "This trip is partly sponsored by Jennie because she wanted to look into that organisation. That was her condition for us using her as a cover."

"The missing information must mean a lot to Mycroft," John scraped his plate with a piece of bread. "Any idea what it is?"

"I think..." Freddie rapped a few commands into his phone to his minions back home "...it has something to do with the Moriarty network."

"Impossible!" huffed Sherlock. "I took care of everything!"

"Even a possible traitor in the Jamaican British Embassy? 

"Those bastards," Sherlock hit the table with his fist, making the plates jump. "I was only on St Martinique! There is always something."

"You can't think of everything, love," said John. 

"Of course I can!" spat Sherlock. 

"You didn't sleep at all on the plane, did you?" John took Sherlock's fisted hand. "This isn't like when we are home, Sherlock. You are still stressed from the flight, you are jet-lagged, it's four times warmer here than in London, and you are still wearing your woollen trousers."

John was thankful for his jeans, but he was still was quite warm. He would have taken his shirt off if he could.

"Don't you worry about it," said James getting to his feet. "I travel between different climates and time zones all the time. Come along, Sherlock. I'm going to show you some tricks of the trade."

"Tricks?" Sherlock looked excited.

"I meant..." John took a calming breath. "...that we need to go to the hotel and take a nap."

"Mate," James looked at John over his sunglasses. "The sooner we get this thing out of the way, the sooner I can have some sex on the beach, and I don't mean the drink." 

The agent pulled Sherlock with him out of the restaurant. John and Freddie glanced at each other. 

"I think I prefer the drink at the moment," said John, waiving to the waitress. 

"Make it two," said Freddie. "I'm not going to have sex on the beach with him, too much sand."

"Is it possible that Sherlock could have missed someone?" 

John ordered two Piña Coladas and tried to forget the image of beach-sex. He already knew that Sherlock wouldn't want to destroy his nice clothes on such an endeavour. And the sand, John remembered the Afghani desert and how the sand got everywhere. 

"It is possible," said Freddie. "Especially if it is someone that thought he had succeeded in getting away, and then suddenly panicked when he noticed the ambassador had those papers." 

"Sherlock did say he thought Mycroft had the plane on standby..." John thanked the waitress for the drink and sighed as the cold glass chilled his hands.

"How are you?" asked Freddie. 

"Warm," John leaned back. "Did you shower at the hotel?"

"Yeah," Freddie took a bite of his slice of fresh pineapple. "The others went straight to bed."

"Lucky devils," said John. 

They sat for a while, enjoying their drinks, the sun, and the people walking by. There was also a mule, a donkey and some chickens passing by catching John's eye. A steady yellow cat crossed the sidewalk. Freddie was playing, or perhaps working, with his phone.

John was starting to slightly doze off when James and Sherlock returned. Sherlock was wearing thin linen trousers. He carrying two plastic bags from a pharmacy, one of the bags containing his old trousers. John noticed sunblock on his face, and was thankful that James had considered Sherlock's fair skin.

"I have underestimated your taste in men, little brother," said Sherlock. "James holds a most intriguing kind of knowledge."

"I hope that was a compliment," said James. 

"It was for you," Freddie frowned and looked up at Sherlock. "Are you saying that you haven't approved of him until now?"

"I have always approved of him," Sherlock shrugged. "I just haven't really found any good use for him until now."

"Thank you," laughed James.

"What about the time he carried you home when you were drunk?" asked John signing the waitress for the bill. "Or that authentic Japanese sword he got for you?"

"Oh," Sherlock grinned. "I do enjoy the Katana. But this is real knowledge!" He held up the pharmacy bag. "Based on experiment, experience and adaptation."

"There better not be any drugs in there."

"None illegal."

"By British or Jamaican standard?" asked Freddie.

"Don't be boring," huffed Sherlock, turning on his heal and walking towards the car.

Both John and Freddie turned to James and a scowled. He held up his hands in defence. 

"It's safe," he said. "I've done it for years."

"Somehow..," signed Freddie, "...that doesn't make me filled with confidence. But I trust you are smart enough to know who would come after you if my brother gets hurt."

"Mycroft? Your mother? You?" 

"No," said Freddie calmly. "John."

John was pleased to see a flicker of worry in James's eyes before the overconfident grin returned. James underestimated John, like so many others, in the sense that he didn't consider him a threat. That was what made John so dangerous, especially when Sherlock was concerned.

"Let's go back to the hotel," said Freddie. "We need to regroup, and I need a better wi-fi to do that.


	7. Seven

Back at the hotel John dragged Sherlock to their room. He then threatened that they would not to sleep in the same bed if the stubborn genius didn't at least try to take a nap. 

John then went to take a shower, Sherlock joined him after two minutes.

"This won't get you out of taking a nap," said John as his neck was kissed. 

"Only if you take it with me..."

"I guess this can make you relax..."

There was a sudden panicked banging on their room door. John growled, even though he could hear the urgency of the knock.

"Dr. Watson?" it was Arthur's voice, accompanying the knocking. "Doctor! Mr. Holmes!"

John took a large towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist. The MJN-crew should still be sleeping. He opened the door.

"Thank goodness," breathed Arthur. "You need to help. Skip is gone and you need to find him!"

"Wait a moment. What do you mean? Gone?"

"Yes! Not there!"

Arthur came into the room sitting down on the end of the bed. He was wearing his uniform without his tie, vest, or cap. John gripped the towel tightly.

"What happened?" asked Sherlock coming out of the bathroom, stark naked, slightly aroused.

"Sherlock!" berated John and then turned to Arthur, who was openly staring at Sherlock. "Arthur!"

"Sorry!" Arthur quickly put his hands over his eyes. "I always forget that I'm not supposed to look."

"Never mind that," Sherlock pulled on his new linen trousers, seemingly without even thinking of underwear. "What's the matter with Martin?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Arthur still holding his hand over his face. "It was too exciting with you and Mr. Danger and all. So I decided to go exploring. I found this brilliant gift shop, with hats, and owls made out of coconut and shells. Those are awesome. Have you seen them?"

"And Martin?" 

"He doesn't like tourist-y stuff, unless it's airplanes," Arthurs voice was close to tears, he started to rock back and forth. "Can they make a coconut and shell airplane? What if we don't find him?"

"Arthur," John sat down and placed a arm around the distressed man. "Calm down. Tell us what happened."

"I wanted to buy an owl, for my collection at home. But mum gives my spending money to Skip for safe keeping... I went back to the room but Skip was gone. I have looked everywhere, and I'm usually really good at hide and seek."

"Hmm," said Sherlock, drying his hair with a towel and then dropping it on the floor. "It seems my plan has worked a little too well."

"Your plan?" John hissed. "Sherlock Holmes! What did you do?"

"Pardon me," said a amused voice from the door. "Since the door is open I guess anyone could join in?"

James was leaning against the doorframe, looking very amused. John guessed how they must look, he was only wearing a towel and was sitting on the bed with his arm around Arthur. Sherlock was wet and half naked. Arthur was still holding his eyes.

"Come off it," huffed Sherlock. "Martin has been taken. We need to find him before anything bad happens."

"Something bad has already happened!" Arthur whined. "Skipper is gone."

"Something worse, then."

"Sherlock!" John pulled Arthur closer. "Behave and tell us what you done!"

"I might have underestimated our opponent," Sherlock put on his shirt. "There must have been something at the embassy that I missed. They think I found it."

"And they think you are Martin since you showed his ID."

"Yes," Sherlock stuck his bare feet in his shoes. "As you commented before, me and Martin bare a bit of resemblance."

"We can use that to our advantage," said James. "I'll go with you."

"I'm going too," said John rising from the bed.

"I want to save Skip as well!" Arthur finally let his hands fall from his face. 

"No," James voice was all business, he was taking out a gun from seemingly nowhere. "I can only cover one person safely. And we move easier if we are just two. You should wake Douglas up and go to Q to be base."

"Better yet..." said Sherlock putting a few suspicious small packages from the pharmacy bag into his pockets. "Leave Douglas with Freddie, then go to the Zion Stripes and look lost without me. Just act like yourself."

"Tosser," grumped John, finally coming to realisation that he better put on some pants. "Why is that better?"

"Cause then you look like you don't think I'm gone, only wondering where I got to. Thereby keeping up our cover, and making the kidnappers confused."

"Brilliant," said Arthur. "Can I come too?"

"That's fine," Sherlock pulled on Arthur's arm. "But first you need to show me your room. You can meet up with John in the lobby."

Sherlock left with Arthur, James following behind and closing the door. John took a breath before dressing. This wasn't turning out to be the working vacation he had hoped for. 

Though he hoped that Sherlock had been slightly refreshed by the cuddle in the shower. He himself felt a bit better.

"I'm not lost without you," he murmured as he collected his mobile and left the room. "It's more then other way around."

John just felt a _little_ lost when he reached the lobby. He sighed, smiled at the pretty receptionist, and sat down in a wicker-chair to wait. 

There were two messages on his phone. One from Pamela and one from Jennie. 

Pamela said that she and Harry would take good care of Gladstone, and that they would go by Baker Street to collect some of his things. They would also drop off some souvenirs they bought on Hawaii. John messaged her back saying thanks, worrying only momentarily about his phone bill.

Jennie's message was a few questions she wanted John to ask 'the Stripes'. It didn't seem that she knew anything about the case other than that they were in Jamaica as a favour to Mycroft. 

John read through the questions a few times to remember them. Arthur arrived soon after, he had changed his clothes to a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. 

They walked to the hotel parking lot. John's mobile beeped with a message from Freddie, saying that he was tracking them, and to check in when they arrived. 

"James said we could use the jeep," Arthur held forwards the keys to John. 

"No licence," said John, getting up from the chair. "You have to drive. Did Sherlock say anything about Martin?"

"Only that I shouldn't worry," Arthur clenched his hand around the car keys. "I'm trying really hard to do that."

"You are doing a great job."


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> This chapter is a short interlude from the plot to give John some food for thought.

"Why do we need to be undercover?" asked Arthur. 

They had made a quick stop at a toy store to buy some board games and decks of cards, and were now back in the yellow jeep, heading for another part of town. Arthur was actually a good driver dispite the foreign traffic, thankfully they were driving on the left side of the road. 

"Don't get me wrong, this is really brilliant. I love helping Mr. Holmes and you with your case, and we _need_ to find Skip. But why is going to this place helping?"

John was somewhat wondering the same thing. On one hand he understood both James' and Sherlock's point of view in this being the safest option, but on the other hand he felt like he was missing a piece of the action. 

"Because," he took a breath. "Because we need to keep up appearances. If the... the bad guys see that we are carrying on like normal they will hopefully get confused and make mistakes. Then it will be easier for James and Sherlock to catch them."

"Why would they get confused?"

"Because they will think we don't miss Martin."

"But we do miss him."

"Yes. But they won't know that."

"Well, I'm confused."

"Then we are making progress," John smiled. "Left here, then straight passed the church for a half a mile. There is supposed to be a orange and pink building near to the sea."

They arrived about ten minutes later. The house was old and rundown, but there was nothing wrong with the bright colours of the place. John sent off a quick message to Freddie before stepping outbid the car. 

"Wow," said Arthur. "I wish mom would let me paint our house like this."

A large woman came out to greet them. She was in her late forties, wearing a blue dress with several large necklaces. She had one if those African turbans on her head that John always forgot the name of.

"What you doin' here?" she asked in a broad Jamaican accent. 

"Good evening," said John, thinking that he might as well do his job right. "I'm Doctor John Watson, I'm representing the Reginald Holmes Foundation."

"Foundation?" she said slowly.

"Yes," smiled John. "On behalf of the British Ambassador, we are very interested in sponsoring your organisation."

"Welcome to the Zion Stripes," the woman was suddenly all smiles. "I'm Mathalda, the matron, but everyone calls me 'Mama'."

Her hand was big and soft, but her grip was firm. She was like a bear, John thought. Nice and cuddly, but fierce in protecting her babies.

"This is Arthur Shappey, my driver."

Arthur immediately began to rave about how brilliant he thought the house to be. Mama said that they were only covering up the wear and tare with paint, which Arthur thought a great idea.

John received a message from Freddie, asking if they were okay. He typed back that there was no trouble, and asked about Sherlock. Freddie answered that Sherlock and James were at the hospital visiting Ambassador Brough. 

"Excuse me," John said to Mama as he put the mobile away. "Our pilot is out sightseeing somewhere and didn't leave a message."

"My ex-husband is a pilot," she huffed. "Can't trust him for anything."

"You can trust Skip with anything," said Arthur proudly. 

Mama showed them inside the house. The first room was a large hall that seemed to be used as dining room, living room and kitchen in one. It opened up to a terrace facing the ocean. There was about fifteen people in the room, most of them in their teens.

"Listen up," Mama clapped her hands to get attention. "These nice gentlemen has come all the way from England to look at our house. Let's make them feel welcome."

Arthur proceeded in handing out the games they brought, while John was given the grand tour. He could hear from some cheers that the games were appreciated.

He was shown the dorm. It was another large room with odd beds, sofas, mattresses, sheets and pillows made up in nests. 

"All the children sleep in here, boys and girls," said Mama and then hesitated. "You said you were a doctor?"

"Yes. Military to be precise, but I have worked in a general practise."

"I wondered if you could have a look at David for me," she beckoned John to follow to a part of the room shielded off by large hanging sheets. "The local doctor, Doctor Tompson, can only come by once every other Thursday. We can't pay him, but he is a good man."

"I see," said John. 

"David came in a few days ago."

She pushed away a sheet revealing a small bed with a young sleeping boy, about fifteen. His skin was very dark, but the bad bruising on his face was clear. John felt his heart tinge a little at the sight. 

Mama gently woke the boy and introduced John. David looked scared and held Mama's hand, but let John examine him. His left eye was red due to a broken vessel.

"David and his boyfriend walked two days to get here," said Mama. 

"You are very brave," said John. 

John felt good examining the boy. It felt like getting back into old tracks. He thought back on the plane and what Arthur had said about doing the things you like. 

John liked running around with Sherlock, helping him, loving him. But in his heart he knew what he was missing. He missed being a doctor, making people better, healthier. The work at the surgery had been dull, but now when it was gone John actually missed it. At least it had helped him to keep up his skills.

"He has a bit of fever, but really he just need rest," said John, patting David's short curly hair. "The eye will be fine, but put on cold compresses to ease the swelling. The bruises are already healing."

"Thank you," said Mama.

"Are there any other you want me to look at while I'm here?" John felt on a roll.

"Are you sure?"

"No problem."

Mama didn't need to asked twice. She brought him back to the common room where she quickly found three more patients for him. 

John noticed that Arthur was caught up in a game of cards with two young girls. They where laughing loudly. 

It was dark when they left to get back to the hotel. John promised to look in again before his return to London. He was defiantly recommending Jennie to sponsor them.

He had gotten three more texts from Freddie, but there was no news on Martin, Sherlock or James. Though John agreed with Freddie that 'no news was good news'. 

At the hotel they immediately went to Freddie's room.

The quartermaster was working by his laptop, his tablet and mobile were set up as extra screens. Douglas was comfortably laid out on the bed reading a newspaper. There were leftovers from room-service on the floor.

"Nice trip?" asked Douglas. 

"It was really brilliant," said Arthur sitting down on the floor scavenging the leftovers. "But really sad as well. There were people there who couldn't be with the people they loved, and that really made me miss Skip because I can't be with him."

"James and Sherlock are getting close," said Freddie not looking up from his screens. "Don't worry. We will have Martin back soon."

John had a feeling that that wasn't what Arthur had meant, but kept quiet. He felt really tired and sat down in a creaky bamboo-chair by the window. It had been a long day, too long. 

He must have fallen asleep, because he was momentarily woken up by Sherlock gently leading him to their room.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know how hard it is to write a fanfiction with two different Benedict-characters just after seeing Star Trek?!!

John was stirred awake by his mobile chiming with a message. His irritated grunt turned to a pleasant hum when he felt Sherlock's chest press against his back, and reach over him to get to the annoying apparatus before it would sound for a second time. 

"Damnable woman!" 

There was only one person in Sherlock's small circuit of female acquaintances that would fit in that description. 

"What does Harry want?"

"She wants to clean our flat."

"Yes," John sighed. "Right... Damnable woman."

He sat up in bed, noticing that he was stripped to his pants. Sherlock was in the same attire, and was texting frantically. Probably telling Harry, not in a nice way, to stay as far away from his things as possible. John expected the flat to be spotless when they got home. 

"I take it from that you are here that you found Martin."

"We did," Sherlock nodded. "We found him with some hired thugs in a shack."

"Is he alright?"

"He's fine, but then James galavanted off somewhere, and expected me to do the clean up."

"That brute," John smiled. "What did you do?"

"I let Martin do it."

"Of course." 

John got up and found that his jeans had been replaced with the same kind of light linen trousers as Sherlock's. He pulled them on without comment. 

"Is he in his room? I want to check him over. I assume that if he had been badly hurt, you would have woken me."

"He is my cousin, John," huffed Sherlock.

"Not assuring, Love."

John got his shoes on, gave Sherlock a look, and left the room.

He found Arthur sitting on the floor outside Martin's door. It looked like the man had spent the night there.

"What are you doing out here?" asked John.

"Mr. Holmes said that Skip needed to rest."

"You need to rest too," John held out his hand and helped Arthur up. "Open the door."

Arthur unlocked the door. Martin was in his pyjama and tucked into bed. He was reading a crossword dictionary even though there was no crossword in sight. 

His face was clean from cuts and bruises, but his wrists were chafed and red from being tied up. His likeness to Sherlock made John's stomach curl a little. 

"Oh, Skip," Arthur hurried to the bedside and took one of the rope-burned wrists in his. "Does it hurt?"

"Not unless you touch it," winced Martin. "I'm fine. They only threatened to hit me, but James and Sherlock arrived in time."

"Can I see?" John sat down on the edge of the bed holding out his hand. 

Martin gave him his other arm, since Arthur seemed reluctant to let go. The ropes hadn't broken the skin, but it looked nasty. 

"I'll get you some ointment at the pharmacy," said John. 

"I can get it!" Arthur jumped to his feet. "I can get breakfast too! Breakfast in bed, Skip! Isn't that fun?"

Martin just laughed fondly. 

John wrote down a few names of ointments on a hotel stationary, since he wasn't sure what brands they had over here. Arthur hurried off. 

"Am I alright to fly?" Martin sounded a little scared to ask when the door closed behind the excited steward. 

"Yes," John leaned forward to look at the other wrist as well. "But I think we are going to stay here a few days. I will do my best to make Sherlock relax a little after this case is over. Are your legs okay?"

"Just a few bruises."

"Good. I assume that Sherlock interrogated you?" 

"Yes," Martin rolled his eyes. "If you can call him shouting deductions and abuse interrogating."

"It sounds like he was just excited," John smiled. 

Martin gave him a strange look.

"They asked me about a safe," he frowned. "Then they accused me of being a spy, and a thief. They said they were going to hurt my boyfriend if I didn't talk, and then I understood that they had mistaken me for Sherlock."

"What did you do then?"

"I shut my mouth of course," Martin stretched his neck detrimentally. "Sherlock is a client of MJN, and a consulting detective. He is also family, so I know he knows he would be in deep trouble if he didn't make it up to me."

"That was brave of you," said John.

"I don't know if I could have held it up if they had hurt me," Martin looked down at his wrists. "But James and Sherlock arrived before anything bad happened. James found something on one of them that made him leave soon after. Sherlock stayed and showed me how to tie them up, call for help, and what to do when the police came."

"He _showed_ you?" asked John raising an eyebrow.

It was a change from 'He made me cause he was too lazy to bother'.

"Yes," nodded Martin looking excited. 

The door opened and Arthur retuned with a breakfast tray and a pharmacy bag in his hands. Sherlock and Douglas were at his back. Martin quickly hid the crossword dictionary under his sheet. 

Douglas looked Martin over, shortly pausing on the wrists.

"I was just going to inform you, Captain, that I'm spending the day on the beach with a book."

"Right," said Martin. "And Douglas?"

"Yes?" Douglas turned at the door. 

"Thank you for looking in on me."

Douglas smiled and left. 

"We have work to do, John," said Sherlock impatiently. "Freddie has some information for us."

"Coming," John was looking over the ointment that Arthur bought, he didn't recognise the name but it seemed alright.

"Wait!" called Martin. "Put my licence back in my bag! I'm a pilot, Sherlock! Don't you ever touch my licence again!" 

"Fine," shrugged Sherlock putting the license back. 

"Honestly," John shook his head. 

As they left John looked back and saw how Arthur carefully started to take care of Martin's wrist.


	10. Ten

Freddie wasn't in his room when John and Sherlock arrived. His computer and tablet were on the table, but the mobile was missing. They could hear the shower running from the bathroom. 

Sherlock walked over and looked at the computer screen. He then typed in several commands and a long password. The symbol of the MI6 came up. He moved the cursor, clicked and wrote another password. John was mesmerised. 

"How have you learned to do this?" 

"By having a computer nerd younger brother, learning things quickly, and looking through James's phone on the plane."

Sherlock was bringing up a face-recognition program. John didn't understand much but it seemed a search was already in progress. 

"It seems that James discovered something last night." 

"Were is James, anyway?" asked John.

"By the sound of the shower Freddie is alone in there, the bed has only been used by one person, and there is one teacup. Most likely is that James is using another room, probably Douglas', to get some undisturbed sleep."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the candid picture that was the reference point for the search. It was a handsome caucasian man, John's age, dark blond hair, and slight stubble. 

"Is that our man?" asked John.

"It seems to be the man who paid off the men who kidnapped Martin," Sherlock held up a hand, covering different parts of the face. "I believe I saw him when I walked around at the embassy, a clerk of some sort..."

John turned as Freddie came out of the bathroom wearing a towel around his hips. His body that didn't seem to have any excess fat, nor any excess muscle. 

The skin was pale and smooth, only a scar from an appendix-operation marred it. John, with his trained medical experience, could see that the operation hadn't been done by a professional. 

"Don't stare, John," said Freddie with half a smile. "You'll make Sherlock jealous."

John blushed and looked back at Sherlock. The detective's body was a little taller, just as thin as his brother's, but with a bit more defined muscles on his legs and upper body. He also knew Sherlock's skin was full of scars. 

"Like I would become jealous over you," muttered Sherlock, still blocking different parts of the picture with his hand. "John can look. He is a doctor."

"I'm sorry," John glanced to the scar again without really meaning to. 

"I was eleven," said Freddie, letting his one of his fingers follow the line of the scar. "We were snowed in in Father's cabin in the Swiss alps. I had a bad infection. Sherlock took my appendage out with the help of his books and the things in the kitchen. He was fifteen."

"And Father said my interest in dissections were morbid and useless," Sherlock smirked. "After that he never said it again."

"He hoped you would be a doctor," Freddie pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt. "I'm not even going to ask how you opened that program. What are you doing?"

"This man has gone through heavy facial reconstructive surgery. I'm trying to determine the original features."

"So that's why it can't find a match..." Freddie came to stand beside Sherlock. "I can probably modify one of my apps for that."

Freddie's fingers moved twice the speed that Sherlock's had over the keys. 

John, who had been fascinated by the short childhood story, blinked and moved to get a better view. 

"This program helps witnesses reconstruct faces from memory," Freddie talked away while he was typing long strings of code. "With a few modifications it can hopefully help you to revert the facial surgeries."

"That's amazing," said John. 

"It's a rush work," Fredde made a few more notes. "I'm actually relying on Sherlock's ability to fill in the gaps."

Sherlock fetched another chair and placed it by the table.

"I know your surgical expertise lie in the torso, John," he said. "But how is your knowledge on facial structures?"

"Fair, I think," John shrugged. "As long as you don't ask me to name anything in Latin."

"I won't. Let's begin then."

Freddie had to sit on Sherlock's lap so that they all could access the screens. He attached his mobile to the network again to get a better workspace.

"I know he's your brother," said James' voice from the door. "But it still feels a bit disconcerting."

"Suffer," said Freddie without turning around. 

James chuckled and left a generously filled breakfast tray on the bedside table. John felt a small growl in is stomach. 

"I'm going for a run," said James. "I'll be wearing my earpiece, so tell me if anything interesting happens. Like if you fancy a shag or something."

"We'll keep that in mind," said Sherlock, absentmindedly. "John can get a little restless if he's not getting some."

John hit his arm. 

"I think I can manage," he said. 

James laughed and left. John got up to make himself a scone with jam and cheese. The brothers wouldn't be eating for a while, but he poured them each a cup of tea in the hope that they would drink it. 

About forty minutes later they had a image of a face on the screen looking like a strange jigsaw-puzzle.

"I think I have seen him before," said Sherlock. "If I'm not mistaken he was the second in command for a Ukrainian gangster I caught in the beginning of... my travels. He was German..." 

He closed his eyes to think. Both John and Freddie avoided looking at him, they knew he didn't liked to be watched when he was in his Mind Palace. Freddie opened up the facial recognition program again. 

"Hansel Kohl," Sherlock murmured. "I directed the police where to find him, but I never saw him caught, just a report..."

"He could have bought someone off," said Freddie, bringing up the file of Kohl on the screen. "If he could afford to do that to his face, he must have been left with plenty of funds."

"That's what happens when you are the only one left after a crumbled down crime syndicate," Sherlock glared at the picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still struggling with my mind being infected with Star Trek, but I think I have figured out the case of this fic. :)


	11. Eleven

Sherlock was very agitated and was walking around the hotel room waiving his arms. 

"How could I have missed it?" he said for the third time. 

"Calm down," said John. "Let's deal with the problem at hand."

"Which is what?" 

"The case, Sherlock!" John stood up from his chair. "The case of the stolen information that we were sent here to get back."

Sherlock just stared at him. Freddie, who had put on some trousers, and taken some of the offered breakfast, gave a little laugh.

"The stolen information..." said Sherlock calmly with a short glare at his brother. "...is obviously something that would expose Kohl's true identity, despite his new face. Possibly something that links him to the money that was left behind for him to use." 

"Yes," nodded Freddie as he began tapping away on the computer. "That gives me an idea..."

"The papers will probably be ash by now," said John. 

"If there are papers about money in Jamaica, there must logically be an account here as well," said Freddie. 

"Yes," Sherlock turned around and ran to look over Freddie's shoulder. "The account must be owned by a British person, maybe even Moriarty himself. When he died, because he was proven criminal, at least to Mycroft, the papers went to the embassy. Kohl has access to the account but can't use it because it's tapped." 

"He's trying to get rid of the tap..." said John slowly realising what was going on.

"Sherlock, John," Freddie looked up from the computer screen. "I need you to accompany me to the bank."

\----

Twenty minutes and two calls to London later they where in the yellow jeep heading into the centre of town. James was at the wheel. 

"You all know your parts?" asked Freddie from the front seat. "John?"

"Keeping up our front, and getting a cheque for Jennie's transaction to the Zion Stripes."

"Sherlock?"

"Create a distraction," drawled Sherlock, clearly irritated over that Freddie thought he needed a reminder. 

"Good. James?"

"Watching your back while you put a bug on their computers."

Freddie seemed pleased with this and went back to his tablet. 

John wondered what kind of distraction Sherlock would make. He was sure that what ever it was, it would be very distracting. 

At the bank John walked up to the teller, a woman in her forties, she gave him kind smile. When John had explained his errand she showed him to another woman, a bit older, sitting further in by a desk. Sherlock followed him, James and Freddie stayed back. 

John talked to the new woman while she took care of the transfer. He explained a little about the foundation, and to where the money was going. She seemed to have an negative opinion of the whole thing, but was too professional to tell it.

"Isn't that sweet," she said and took out a cheque. 

"It's very sweet in fact," said Sherlock. 

He was wearing that look that told John he had deduced the woman's life, and was ready to strike. 

John quickly took the cheque, and put it in his pocket so it wouldn't get lost if the _distraction_ got physical. 

To his surprise nothing happened. They walked towards the front doors and still nothing. John glanced Freddie who had positioned himself further in. James was nowhere in sight. 

Then John felt Sherlock's hand in his and he knew what the distraction was going to be. Sherlock lips touched his in a kiss. 

In the middle of a bank. 

The kiss deepened, and John could hear whispers about them. He embraced Sherlock and pulled him closer He knew it wasn't the decent thing to do, but Sherlock wasn't normally this forward, and John didn't want to miss out. 

John didn't know about the guards Freddie was avoiding, but he was defiantly distracted. 

"Your car is waiting, sir," James's hand touched John's back. "Don't overdo it, or they'll know it's a distraction."

"Bugger off," said Sherlock taking John closer. 

John laughed, and reluctantly pulled away after a last meet of lips. He tugged Sherlock's hand following James out the doors. 

"We'll have time for more when all of this is over," he said. "I'm not leaving this island before I get you to take at least a mini-break with me."

Sherlock gave him a quick grin, and squeezed his hand as they crossed the street. Freddie was already in the car when they got to it. 

"Lovely distraction, Sherlock," he said, not looking away from his tablet. 

"I aim to please."

"When?"

"When I want to," Sherlock leaned back in his seat. 

James laughed. 

"Where to, gentlemen?" he asked edging the car on to the road. 

"The Zion Stripes," said Freddie. "We can drop the cheque off. It can take a while before Kohl tries to access the account. I can't do anything until then."


	12. Twelve

They arrived to the Stripes's house about an hour later. They had stopped by a supermarket to buy some candy. 

"Is this really a good idea?" asked John looking through the bags of sweets."They are mostly troubled teens that have been abandoned by their families, not little children."

"Trust me," said Freddie. "They will be very happy."

"I agree," said Sherlock sucking on a lollipop in a way that made John'a mouth go dry. "Sugar got Mycroft through his adolescents, and just look at him now."

"Not a good example, Sherlock."

"Lestrade loves Mycroft's pudge."

"Don't make deductions about our brother's sexlife to me."

James hummed with a pleasant thought. Freddie gave him a look that would kill. John didn't know what to think because he was still staring at Sherlock's smirking mouth around the lollipop. 

Mama welcomed them with open arms. She chatted happily as she introduced the residents to them.

When she got the cheque, that would give them more than just repairs to the building, she cried. Then she hugged and kissed all four of them. Freddie almost disappeared in her large arms, and Sherlock looked slightly shocked. 

They were invited to lunch, but it actually seemed to be a bit of a spontaneous party. John accepted with a smile. The candy was appreciated, even among the older teens. 

John said hello to David who was well enough to come and quietly sit with them, with a blanket around his shoulders despite the warm day. The boy's bruises looked like they were healing well. 

They were watching James teach some boxing techniques to a few kids when one of Freddie's alarms beeped. 

"Kohl logged in," he said with a look at his tablet and then frowned. "But he didn't stay to make an errand, just left again. Not enough time for a trace."

"He's on the edge," said Sherlock. "He'll be running soon."

"I have the facial recognition tapped at the airports and docks available to me online," Freddie read trough a report mostly of numbers. "But it's possible he can get to a smaller one. Or take a private plane."

Sherlock blinked.

"John," he said pulling up his mobile. "Call Arthur. I'm calling Martin. Freddie, Douglas."

"Right," John dialled Arthur's number. "No answer."

"Neither is Martin," said Sherlock.

"Douglas is on his way to check their room," said Freddie hanging up his phone. "I think we need to prepare to move."

John twirled his mobile nervously between his hands.

"I hope they have just come to their senses and having sex."

"I don't predict that happening for at least six months," said Sherlock.

"You are great at keeping up a positive attitude, Love."

They said good bye to Mama and the the others, and loaded themselves into the jeep. John gave them his email and the address to 221b so they could send him pictures. 

Douglas called back and told that neither Martin nor Arthur where in their room. By his description of the room Sherlock figured that the men hadn't left by their own will. 

"Just as we thought," he said. "Kohl is probably using them to leave the island. Why didn't I think of it?"

"We all thought they were safe together at the hotel," said John, patting his hand. "And we also thought that Kohl was going after the money before running."

"But I'm not supposed to think like you!" spat Sherlock. 

"Calm down," said Freddie. "It's just as my fault as well, now let's fix it."

He was coordinating Douglas, who was sitting by the computer at the hotel, over the phone. 

"There are no sights of Kohl on the airport face-rec," he told them. "I'm instructing Douglas how to look for Martin's and Arthur's faces as well."

James turned the car onto a larger road. Luckily the airport wasn't far away. The road went almost parallel with a runway. 

"Shall I go through the back or front entrance of the airport?" he asked. 

"Back," said Sherlock. "Mycroft can sort with the red tape later. Martin is going to piss Kohl off quite quickly."

"Fine by me," said James and made another turn as he sped the car up.

"Why is he going to piss him off?" shouted John to overcome the loud sound of the engine and the air rushing by. 

"Martin is a stickler for rules, especially when it comes to flying," Sherlock called back. "I can't imagine him skipping correct safety procedure even under the pressure of gunpoint."

John felt a bit worried, but at the same time he was elated by the chase. James steered the car around the airport and reached a fenced gate. He crashed the jeep right into it, and the gate was gone.

"I have stopped the tower from giving clearance," called Freddie. "Though I fear that will only make Martin more harder to force to take off. If Kohl gets desperate..."

He was interrupted by a sudden alarm ringing out. It sounded like there was going to be an air-raid. They could see a police car and a fire truck coming out from a hangar not far off. James sped up.

John pointed to the small plane with the MJN lettering in its tail. It was taxing very slowly towards a runway when it suddenly stopped abruptly. 

"That doesn't look right," said Sherlock, John noted a small hint of worry in the voice. "Martin would never..."

They reached the plane just as its doors opened and Arthur came tumbling out. He caught sight of them and started to wave. James hit the breaks right next to him.

"He's got Skip!" Arthur cried. 

"Where is he?" James had pulled his gun.

"I don't know," Arthur shook his head. "He told me to taxi the plane away or he would shoot Skip. I couldn't do it..."

"Where would he go?" asked John. 

"He must have another plane," said Sherlock. 

The police car and firetruck arrived. A very angry policeman came out of the car with a gun in his hand.

"What the bleeding hell is going on here?" he yelled. 

"CIA," said Freddie in an perfect American accent, taking out a identification card from his back pocket. "We are persuing a suspect."

James raised an eyebrow.

"You can't bleeding go through a fence like that! Where is your clearance?" he lowered his gun. 

His partner came out of the car as well. John recognised him as the tall, young policeman from when he visited the embassy. 

"Wait, I remember them sir," he gestured at John. "They were at the British Embassy yesterday. There was some official business."

"Bleeding Americans!" 

The elder officer took the badge from Freddie and walked to the police car, probably to call in and verify its authenticity. John wondered how good Freddie's fake was. 

"One moment," Freddie held up a finger and put his phone to his ear. 

John was checking over Arthur for any damage, but other than a minor shock he was fine. 

"Douglas found something on the cameras," said Freddie, still in his flawless American voice. "James, John, hangar five C. I'll stay here with Arthur."

"You drive," said James to John.

"I'll go with you," said Sherlock still sitting in the back of the jeep. 

John wanted to protest but knew it was useless. He started the car. 

He drove away with the elder Jamaican police officer's curses in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case will probably finish by the next chapter, but the epilogue is going to cover at least two more chapters after that.


	13. Thirteen

They arrived to the hangar one minute later. James made John and Sherlock a sign that they should stay behind him. John gave the same sign to Sherlock. 

Martin and Kohl were standing by a small plane four-person-plane. Kohl was pointing a gun at Martin, his voice was clear. 

"Fly the plane."

"I will not!" Martin crossed his arms.

"Oh shit," said Sherlock, and John knew this was going to be bad if they didn't do anything soon.

"Fly _ze_ plane!" Kohl's German accent seemed to grow the more agitated he became. 

"I am not type rated on this plane. This is a Cessna 172S, it doesn't even have a jet engine. And further more, my licence, my ID, and my passport are still at the hotel. There is no flight-plan, no status report, no contact with the tower, and did you hear that noise just now? It was a warning that there are foreign objects on the runway..."

"Fly _ze fuckink_ plane!" Kohl interrupted Martin's very Holmesian speech by pushing the gun to his forehead.

Martin meeped, and began to shake, his knees folding. There was no clear line of fire for James. He signed John to wait and moved off to somewhere. John swallowed nervously.

"I...I-I-..." stammered Martin.

"Stop!" called Sherlock stepping out into the open. "You have the wrong man. I'm the pilot!"

John wanted to strangle Sherlock at that moment.

Kohl turned around, grabbing hold of Martin, and aiming the gun towards his head. His eyes flickered between his hostage and Sherlock. 

"I'm the pilot," said Sherlock again, holding up his empty hands. "Let him go, and I fly you where ever you want to. St. Martinique, right?"

John remembered Sherlock mentioning St. Martinique earlier as a place he investigated during his time away. He swore under his breath when Sherlock placed himself between John and Kohl. 

"He is your brother?" asked Kohl, sounding like he was regaining control. 

"Cousin," Sherlock took a step closer. "Let him go! I'll fly the plane."

"No," said Kohl. "No I don't think so. The stupid one called this one 'Skip'. He is the pilot."

"Don't call him stupid," hissed Martin with sudden anger. 

Kohl shook him and pressed the gun so hard against his cheek that the skin would have a mark later.

"Fine," Sherlock took another step forward. "I'm not the pilot, but I know how to fly this kind of plane. And I can give you access to the Ulov-accounts,"

"What do you know about Ulov?" Kohl turned his gun to Sherlock.

John guessed that they were talking about the Ukrainian mobster, Kohl's former boss. His heart sped up as Sherlock answered. 

"Who do you think killed him?"

"You..." 

Kohl didn't have time to say anything more, Martin was hitting his side. The next moment a muffled shot sounded and a crimson-red stain began to spread over Kohl's shirt-shoulder. He wobbled and glared at Sherlock. John jumped forward pushing Sherlock aside to the floor as Kohl fired.

That bullet missed, but the next one hitting Kohl's leg didn't. Kohl went down on the ground, the gun loosening from his grip. John hurried up and kicked it away. James came out if the shadows, pointing his own gun at Kohl, and then knocking him unconscious.

"You are too rough, John," said Sherlock, sitting up and examined a small scrape on his left wrist. 

"Sorry," John went over to Martin. "I forgot you aren't wearing your coat."

"You could have used your eyes," Sherlock got up and started to search through Kohl's pockets. 

"My eyes were looking at the gun that was pointed on you," argued John.

Sherlock was probably going to say something snarky back but was interrupted by several police cars arriving. Freddie and Arthur were in one of them. 

"Martin!" called Arthur running towards them and taking Martin in a great hug. 

"Upfh!" said Martin as the wind was knocked out of him. 

"I was really, really, really worried!" Arthur planned a kiss right on Martin's mouth. 

"Arthur!" splurted Martin in a chocked, but definably not angry, tone. 

John chuckled and went over to Sherlock. The detective had just turned his finds of Kohl's pockets over to Freddie, so John took his left hand and kissed the scrape. 

"All better," he smiled.

"Go help stop Kohl's bleeding," said Sherlock giving him an amused look. "It would be better if he was alive for the interrogation."

"Case solved then?" asked John, taking a first-aid-kit from one of the policemen with a 'I'm a doctor'-grunt. 

"Yes," said Sherlock. 

"You hardly did any of the solving," said Freddie with an amused huff. "It was mostly stirring on your part. And you are going to leave the talking to the Jamaican National Intelligence Bureau to me and Mycroft."

"I'm on vacation," said Sherlock with a shrug. 

James laughed, Freddie gave him a glare. 

"Don't look at me," said James. "I'm just a legman."

"Well, you are not coming near my legs until this mess is cleared up."

"Sherlock!" James grabbed hold of Sherlock's arm. "You have some things to help your brother with."

Freddie and John grinned at each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next two chapters will be the epilogue.


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue 1

"Sherlock?"

John and Sherlock were on the beach. They had bought bathing-shorts but hadn't been swimming yet. Sherlock had a shirt on, he was also sitting under a large parasol, and had his sunglasses on. John had been to buy them each an ice cream, so he sat down in the shade next to him.

"Yes?" Sherlock took the offered cone and temptingly licked the melting ice cream from it.

"I've been thinking," John knew Sherlock was teasing him. 

"I have always been fascinated by the inner workings if your mind."

"I know," John smiled, ignoring the sarcastic undertone in his friend's voice. "I've been thinking about setting up my own medical practice."

Sherlock looked out over the ocean and at the tourists jumping around there. He could probably tell which of them had dieted to get in their bathing suits. Martin and Arthur were somewhere in the water as well but John wasn't looking for them. 

He took a breath. He knew Sherlock would have some abandonment issues. After coming back he had attached himself even more to John, and not just in the terms if their relationship.

"I love helping you, Sherlock. You know I do. But I need more. I miss being a doctor. With my own practice I can choose my own hours, do some consulting, and take patients on by appointment..."

"I see." Sherlock was watching his ice cream melt down his hand. 

John shifted nervously.

"Sherlock? What do you think?"

"You said you wanted more..."

"Yes?"

"I can be more."

John stared at him, shocked. Trying to imagine...

"No, Love, no," he put an arm around his partner's shoulders and laughed gently. "Never be more than what you already are. The Scotland Yard would have a complete break down."

"They would, wouldn't they?" smiled Sherlock. 

"Yes. Eat your ice cream before it's gone," John kissed his temple. "I'm not leaving you, ever. I just need to be a doctor as well."

"The consulting detective and the consulting doctor?"

"Why not?" John laughed, remembering he had a ice cream of his own. "Mmm, I was thinking..."

"There is more?"

"I was thinking that, the money you gave me? Since we're getting these extra days as our fee from Mycroft. We could use it to fix up apartment C on Baker Street. Like... Like an office for me and a lab for you,"

"A lab?" Sherlock smile suddenly competed with the sun. 

"With your very own refrigerator."

Sherlock's grin grew.

"What's going on?" asked Freddie walking up to them. "You look like there has been a multiple homicide in a locked room."

"Yeah," said James placing his hand on Freddie's hip. "Or that you finally gotten around to the thought of shagging someone's brains out." 

John saw the expression on Sherlock's face and knew what the two were talking about. He cleared his throat.

"Beach all sexed out?"

"Mr. Prude here..." James indicated Freddie "...thinks that we should wait until most of the kids get off the beach before we sex it."

"It would be more romantic under the stars anyway," Freddie elbowed James lightly in the ribs.

"The sun is a star," said James innocently.

"It is?" frowned Sherlock.

"Anyway," Freddie gave his brother a look. "We were going to ask you if you wanted to join us for a drink at the taverna. Douglas is already there flirting with the barmaid."

"Sure," John looked around for Martin and Arthur.

He spotted them snogging under a parasol not far the edge of the water. 

"They are certainly not waiting for the kids to go home," said James.

"I thought you said six months," said John.

"Then I didn't put mortal danger in the equation," Sherlock was suspiciously looking at the sun. 

"Story of my life," mused James.

"I'll get them," sighed Freddie. "A drink will hopefully cool them off."

"Or drunk enough to shag."

"Shut up, James."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: back in London.


	15. Fifteen

John was hugging Gladstone. The dog was so ecstatic that his poor biologically squished up bulldog airways made him sound like a drowning steam engine. 

"There, there, baby. Daddy has missed you too."

Sherlock huffed, but couldn't help bask in the dog's joy as well. He let Gladstone lick his hand. Mrs. Hudson smiled as she looked on.

"Harry and Pamela left yesterday. They have been so nice this week. Your mother is still upstairs."

"Mother?" said Sherlock looking up the stairs. "'Still'? Have the three of them been here all this time?"

"Yes?" Mrs. Hudson frowned. "Didn't you know? Harry said she spoke with you on the phone. About the cleaning and so on?" She turned to John with a shake of her head. "We had to ask Miss Hooper by to help with the fridge..."

Sherlock was already halfway up the stairs. John didn't know if to laugh or freak out. He did both, and followed with Gladstone tightly in his arms.

"Mummy!" 

"Sherry, darling," Clotilde's voice sounded amused. "What a lovely tan you have."

"Don't try to distract me, Mummy."

John came inside the flat, and stopped dead. It was clean. Really clean. 

The old yellowish curtains were gone, replaced with dark blue heavy silk. A new patterned carpet, though probably antique, was on the floor. There was a nice new file cabinet by the wall. The bookshelves were well organised. 

The picture Clotilde had taken at James' birthday party of the two of them was in a nice frame on the mantelpiece, next to the skull.

Sherlock seemed to be in catatonic shock, standing far too still in the middle of the room. 

John put Gladstone down on the floor. The dog walked over to his green pillow where his rubber chicken lay waiting. 

The kitchen looked renovated. The cupboards were painted blue. The stove was spotless. The refrigerator was shining. All the chemical equipment, and the microscope, was on the kitchen table, but everything was clean. Sherlock gave a helpless whimper. John reached out and took his hand. 

"Do you like it?" asked Clotilde her tone a bit worried. "Harry said you had approved wholeheartedly. I thought it didn't sound like you, but she said you would be really happy."

"It's lovely," said John, holding on to Sherlock, who seemed a bit wobbly at the knees. "Wonderful. Thank you so much."

"My... My..." whimpered Sherlock.

"Think of your lab, Love," whispered John directing Sherlock towards their bedroom. "Your brand new lab."

"Lab," repeated Sherlock automatically.

The bedroom was clean as well. The blue sheets were brand new. Seven large fluffy pillows decorated the bed. 

"Sit down," John helped Sherlock to the bed.

He lifted up Gladstone, who had followed them, and placed the happy dog in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock hugged Gladstone gently to his chest.

"Are you sure he is all right?" Clotilde patted her son's head. "I haven't seen him like this since his nanny accidentally threw away his dirt collection."

"I'm sure he will be just fine," John kissed Sherlock's cheek. "Let's go make tea. I think I'm going to need some before his mind snaps back."

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> And thank you memprime for noticing the spelling. I'm sure there is more in there that I haven't noticed.
> 
> This was the last planned part in this series, but I'm sure I'll visit this universe again after I dealt with some if my other bunnies.


End file.
